Devil in Spring
As the water retreated in a long pull, towing sand back with it, Pandora had the sensation of sliding backward even though she was standing still. At the same time, sand eroded from beneath her feet, as if someone were yanking away a rug she happened to be standing on.
The ground tilted sharply and she staggered, her equilibrium lost.
A pair of strong hands caught her from behind. Blinking, Pandora found herself pulled back against Gabriel’s hard, warm chest, with his thighs braced on either side of hers. She heard the baritone of his voice, but he spoke near her bad ear, and the sound of the surf muffled his words.
“Wh-what?” she asked, turning her head to the side.
“I said I have you,” Gabriel murmured at her other ear. The brush of his lips at the delicate outer rim sent an electric feeling through her. “I should have warned you. As the waves ebb, it can make you feel as if you’re moving even when you’re standing still.”
Another wave approached. Pandora tensed and backed up against him more tightly, and she was vaguely annoyed to feel him chuckle.
“I won’t let you fall.” His arms slid securely around her front. “Just relax.”
He steadied her as the wave broke and surged around her legs, its eddies raking up sand and shells. As the water retreated, Pandora considered fleeing to higher ground. But it felt so pleasant to lean back against Gabriel’s sturdy form that she hesitated, and then another surge was coming. She gripped his arm hard, and it tightened reassuringly across her middle. Shoaling water rose and broke with the sounds of shattering crystal, followed by swooshes as if something were being mopped. Over and over, in hypnotic rhythm. Gradually her breathing turned deep and regular.
The experience began to feel rather dreamlike. The world had become nothing but coldness, heat, sun, sand, the scent of brine and minerals. Gabriel’s torso was a wall of muscle at her back, flexing subtly as he adjusted for balance, keeping her braced and supported and safe. Random thoughts drifted through her mind, the way they did in early morning, in the margin between sleep and wakefulness. A breeze carried the sounds of the children laughing, the dog barking, Phoebe’s and Seraphina’s voices, but they all seemed removed from what was happening to her.
Forgetting herself entirely, Pandora let her head loll back against Gabriel’s shoulder. “What kind of glue does Ivo use?” she asked languidly.
“Glue?” he echoed after a moment, his mouth close to her temple, grazing softly.
“For his kites.”
“Ah.” He paused while a wave retreated. “Joiner’s glue, I believe.”
“That’s not strong enough,” Pandora said, relaxed and pensive. “He should use chrome glue.”
“Where would he find that?” One of his hands caressed her side gently.
“A druggist can make it. One part acid chromate of lime to five parts gelatin.”
Amusement filtered through his voice. “Does your mind ever slow down, sweetheart?”
“Not even for sleeping,” she said.
Gabriel steadied her against another wave. “How do you know so much about glue?”
The agreeable trance began to fade as Pandora considered how to answer him.
After her long hesitation, Gabriel tilted his head and gave her a questioning sideways glance. “The subject of glue is complicated, I gather.”
I’m going to have to tell him at some point, Pandora thought. It might as well be now.
After taking a deep breath, she blurted out, “I design and construct board games. I’ve researched every possible kind of glue required for manufacturing them. Not just for the construction of the boxes, but the best kind to adhere lithographs to the boards and lids. I’ve registered a patent for the first game, and soon I intend to apply for two more.”
Gabriel absorbed the information in remarkably short order. “Have you considered selling the patents to a publisher?”
“No, I want to make the games at my own factory. I have a production schedule. The first one will be out by Christmas. My brother-in-law, Mr. Winterborne, helped me to write a business plan. The market in board games is quite new, and he thinks my company will be successful.”
“I’m sure it will be. But a young woman in your position has no need of a livelihood.”
“I do if I want to be self-supporting.”
“Surely the safety of marriage is preferable to the burdens of being a business proprietor.”
Pandora turned to face him fully. “Not if ‘safety’ means being owned. As things stand now, I have the freedom to work and keep my earnings. But if I marry you, everything I have, including my company, would immediately become yours. You would have complete authority over me. Every shilling I made would go directly to you—it wouldn’t even pass through my hands. I’d never be able to sign a contract, or hire employees, or buy property. In the eyes of the law, a husband and wife are one person, and that person is the husband. I can’t bear the thought of it. It’s why I never want to marry.”
The little speech was astounding. It was the most transgressive talk Gabriel had ever heard from a woman. In a way, it was more shocking than any of his mistress’s most salacious words and acts.
What in God’s name had Pandora’s family been thinking, encouraging such ambitions? Granted, it was hardly unheard-of for someone like a middle-class widow to run a business inherited from her late husband, or for a milliner or seamstress to have her own little shop. But it was well nigh unimaginable for a peer’s daughter.